Lost to inky kills
The author kills his darlings
He weeps yet smiles.
Lost to inky kills
The author kills his darlings
He weeps yet smiles.
He weeps yet smiles,
The man walking through the park.
What is he thinking?
"art: as the spirit wanes the form appears" - Charles Bukowski
What is he thinking?
sculpture frozen in cold stone
he look, like a man.
There's nothing like a simile.
He look, like a man.
Eye contact reveals fear's hint
Helpless to save them.
Helpless to save them
As they fall down to the ground.
Now the yard is red.
"art: as the spirit wanes the form appears" - Charles Bukowski
Now the yard is red.
Forgiving crimson stains trees.
Story of ages.
Guilty branded heart
Of a forgotten passion,
Sleep's hard on the mind.
"art: as the spirit wanes the form appears" - Charles Bukowski
Sleep's hard on the mind
When you have been awakened
By unsteady thoughts
By unsteady thoughts
we toddle our mental way
toward Reason's door.
There's nothing like a simile.
Towards Reason's door,
I stumbled, unaware that
soldiers watched my steps.
soldiers watched my steps
(well, lighted plastic "tin" ones)
Holiday season
There's nothing like a simile.
Holiday season,
And there's leaves decomposing
Under snowy layers
"art: as the spirit wanes the form appears" - Charles Bukowski
'Neath snowy layers
Tulips and crocuses dream
All snug in their beds
There's nothing like a simile.
All snug in their beds,
They dream, as I drift awake,
The night is for me.
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